


what the water gave me

by figure8



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band), Olympics RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming of Age, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Secret Relationship, Sports, Swimming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 03:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: Mark loves swimming because it's the closest he'll ever get to flying. Donghyuck swims because it's all he's ever known. They crash into each other like wave and shore, and like wave and shore, the current then pulls them away.





	what the water gave me

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! i wanted my first nct fic to be canon compliant, but then this au just... kind of took over my life. i'm probably too invested at this point.  
> it's a competitive sports au because every fandom should have one in my humble and honest opinion. i tried to make everything as clear as possible, but please do tell me if there's too much jargon in there.  
> in order to make the timelines fit, i had to change everyone's ages. mark and haechan are 17 going on 18 in 2012, and everyone else is aged up accordingly, except from Kris whom i had to age down.  
> this chapter for me is a T, but overall this fic needs an M rating, so i've erred on the side of caution and went ahead with it from the get go.  
> oh, i almost forgot! this fic has a [soundtrack](https://open.spotify.com/user/thedeadrobin/playlist/24qVR5wT6frRlJeAgArspM), because i never do things by halves  
> enjoy!! <3
> 
> oh, and if by any chance there's a fosterverse reader among you, hi, i'm still alive, i'm BACK, expect an update relatively soon, ily

_Time it took us_

_To where the water was_

_That’s what the water gave me_

_And time goes quicker, between the two of us_

_Oh my love, don’t forsake me_

_Take what the water gave me_

**LONDON, 2012**

“Hey,” Kris laughs, elbowing Mark softly in the ribs, “Look up, it’s alternate universe you.”

Mark raises his eyes from his phone screen, still groggy from the ten-hour flight. Lately, he’s been scrolling through tweets in the #London2012 hashtag every time he needs something to pass the time. “Uh?”

Kris motions with his chin towards the luggage carousel. “The South Koreans are here.”

The South Koreans are, indeed, here. They sound comfortable and happy, entirely too energetic for a group of people who just flew across the world. Mark feels a pang of envy in the pit of his stomach, and doesn’t know what exactly he’s jealous of. It’s his first Games, and he feels a little out of place, but he’s also been buzzing in anticipation for _months_ now. He knows he deserves to be here. Maybe it’s the red and blue hoodies that got to him, awakening his dormant lifelong identity crisis. The constant tug towards the East, like an aimless boat on the Pacific. He lets his gaze wander, recognizes some vaguely familiar faces he remembers from the Beijing broadcasts, and some _very_ familiar faces he swam against a few months ago during the World Cup.

“My dad always thought I would compete with them,” he tells Kris. “I think even now he’s a little bittersweet about it.”

“Yeah? I almost got on Team China,” Kris shrugs, like it’s no big deal, like it’s not the worst dilemma he’s ever had to face. Maybe it really isn’t. Maybe that’s just Mark, maybe Mark is the only kid here who feels like he never completely _belongs._ “But Coach convinced me I had a good chance of getting called for the ‘08 Games, so.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

“Swimming for Canada? Nah, man. It’s home, you know? I trained here, it wouldn’t make sense not to wear these colors. When I came back from Beijing with a gold, there were people waiting at the airport, right? With tiny maple leaf flags, and everything. It felt good.”

Mark wants to answer, but before he can formulate his thoughts into coherent words, Ryan gets up from the seat next to Kris’s and yells, “Our bags are here!”

 

It’s a chill ride to the Olympic Village. Mark is rooming with Kris, so they get a taxi together as soon as they both have their suitcases instead of waiting for everyone else. Any other day, Mark would probably feel kind of bad, but right now all he can think of is the bed waiting for him in his hotel room. He’s been daydreaming about soft mattresses for the past three hours. Kris almost has to manhandle him into the building, he’s that tired.

“Aren’t you supposed to be full of energy? You’re a teenager,” Kris chuckles.

“I’m an exhausted teenager,” Mark groans as Kris unlocks the door to their room. “We crash and burn. You don’t remember high school?”

Kris grimaces. “I try not to.” He’s only three years older than Mark, but he likes to act like he has a good decade on him. As far as experience goes, he might as well. Kris has the five rings tattooed on his bicep, and that alone puts him in a whole other league.

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” Kris teases as Mark escapes his grip to faceplant into the bed as soon as they’ve crossed the threshold. Mark gives him the finger, nose still smushed into the blanket.

“Fuck off, mom.”

 

He feels much more like himself in the morning, even if the jet lag is kind of kicking his ass. He makes a beeline for one of the espresso machines as soon as they enter the food hall and presses the button for a double shot latte with a happy sigh. The guy standing next to him chuckles discreetly.

“Rough day?” he asks Mark in heavily accented English when he realizes he’s been caught.

“It’s only been like thirty minutes since I got up, I don’t know. Flew in from Canada, man.”

The guy huffs. “I’m from Korea,” he points at the flag embroidered on his tee-shirt. “Twelve hours.”

“You win,” Mark smiles, taking his now steaming cup. He knows his Korean is good, way better than conversational, but for some reason he doesn't switch. “I’ve done London-Seoul a bunch of times, it’s a bitch.”

“You’re Korean!” The dude’s eyes light up. “I’m Lee Donghyuck,” he introduces himself, extending a hand that Mark shakes almost by reflex, not really thinking about it. “Swimmer.”

“Mark,” Mark says. “Also, uh, swimmer. And technically I’m Canadian, but yeah, my parents are Korean.”

Deep inside, he _knows_ why he’s stammering, why he’s still speaking in English. Donghyuck is gorgeous. A little shorter than Mark, but all muscle and tanned skin, copper hair framing an angelic face. Mark has never been really good at dealing with pretty faces.

“No way!” Donghyuck smiles. “How come I’ve never seen you before?”

“It’s my first time at the Olympics,” Mark shrugs. He piles on a small mountain of scrambled eggs onto his plate. “We might have crossed paths during the Junior World Championship last year, what did you swim?”

“Butterfly, both 100 and 200, and the 400 medley. You?”

 _Yeah_ , Mark thinks, _with arms like those, of course you’re a butterfly guy._

“Freestyle and backstroke, and the 4x100 medley.”

“Oh,” Donghyuck’s eyes widen in recognition, “You got a silver for that relay. I remember now.”

Mark grabs a slice of bread from one of the baskets on the counter in front of him and puts it on his tray. They’ve reached the end of the line, and now comes the dreaded time to pick a table.

“So, I,” he starts saying, but Kris picks that exact moment to appear right in front of them.

“Markiepoo,” he shakes a finger in Mark’s face accusingly, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, you’re not answering your phone.”

“Sorry, I think it’s still in the room. Oh, Donghyuck, this is—”

“Kris Wu,” Donghyuck completes his sentence for him. “Wow, it’s an honor. I’m Lee Donghyuck.”

Kris pats him gently on the shoulder. “Honor’s all mine, kiddo. We’re sitting right over there, if you wanna join.”

“Oh,” Donghyuck sighs, sounding a little disappointed, “Thank you, but my teammates are waiting for me.”

“ _It’s an honor_ ,” Mark parrots as soon as Donghyuck’s out of earshot. “I can’t believe people _admire you_. You’re a giant nerd.”

“I’m an Olympic gold medalist,” Kris grins. “I know you like to forget it, but you always get your ass handed to you when you try to run against me.”

They sit down with Ryan and Hillary, who are already done with their plates. Kris bites into a half-eaten breakfast sandwich.

“So, Mark,” Ryan asks joyously, “Did you drown in the toilet or something?”

“Don’t bully him,” Kris huffs. “He’s a baby.”

“I’m almost eighteen,” Mark glares.

“Babyyyyy,” Kris sing-songs, and then yelps loudly when Mark kicks him in the leg under the table, hard.

“I actually got here before all of you, I just met someone and we talked for a while.”

There’s a glint in Ryan’s eyes, and Mark immediately knows he’s in for another round of teasing. He doesn’t mind. He’s sitting with Olympians, and the light hazing means they've adopted him as one of their own. It’s a little bit surreal.

“Baby’s first Olympic hookup?” Ryan snickers.

Mark blushes, suddenly reminded of how goddamn _pretty_ Donghyuck had been, but before he has a chance to stutter, Kris waves Ryan’s question away.

“Nah, it was a dude. We need to find Markiepoo a sexy little gymnast or something. They’re mad flexible, dude, you have _no idea_. It’s a whole new world out there.”

It’s a brutal reminder that he’s not out to his teammates. He’s not out to anyone, really.

He’s not ashamed of it. He came to terms with his sexuality a while ago, thirteen and panicking every time he had to step foot in a locker room or a communal shower. He hasn’t freaked out about it in years, came to an understanding with himself. The world is a shitty place, and Mark’s path as a swimmer isn’t one that allows much leeway, but if everyone else is going to hate him, he refuses to hate himself.

He laughs along to Kris’s stories about sex in Beijing. If his hand is slightly trembling where it’s resting on his knee, Mark doesn’t think about it too much.

 

He’s lounging in one of the common areas of the entertainment building when he sees Donghyuck again. Or, more accurately, when Donghyuck sees _him_. Mark is way too entertained by his PSP to notice him at first.

“Hey,” the now familiar voice greets him. Donghyuck’s accent reminds Mark of home, of the taste of authentic kimchi, of long phone calls with his grandma too late into the evening.

“Hey yourself,” he smiles, pausing his game. “Watcha doin’?”

“Jaehyun locked me out of our room. I didn’t really know where to go.”

“Jung Jaehyun? Man, he took the freestyle bronze right under my nose last year.”

“He’s my—what do you call that, in English? Same room.”

“Your roommate.”

“Yes. I think he has a girl in there.”

“Aw,” Mark smirks, “You’re being sexiled on day one? Cold.”

Donghyuck looks confused. “Sexiled?”

“Ah, yeah, it’s like. Exile? But because your roommate’s having sex? So, sexile.”

“That’s clever.” Donghyuck joins him on the couch. He motions to Mark’s console. “What are you playing?”

“Final Fantasy: Crisis Core. I’m stuck, though. I keep dying.”

“Can I try?”

Mark shrugs, passes him the PSP. “Knock yourself out.”

They sit in agreeable silence while Donghyuck gets him through the next three levels almost effortlessly, thumbs working ultra fast on the command buttons.

“When did you start? Swimming, I mean,” Mark asks after Donghyuck has set the game down.

Donghyuck doesn’t answer immediately, like he has to think about it. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “I don’t really remember. My mom made me take classes as a baby. I started competing when I was nine.”

“Yeah,” Mark nods. “Me too. I mean, earlier, actually, I think I was seven for my first local competition, but yeah. Always in the water.”

“I hated it, for a while,” Donghyuck confesses quietly.

“We all did. We all _do_ , I think. There’s something wrong if you’re not cursing it all to hell right after practice, right?”

“No, I don’t… I wanted to do something else. Sing. But we have invested so much, my family. In me swimming.”

Mark doesn’t know what to do with this information. He’s known Donghyuck for less than six hours.

“You’re an Olympian,” he states dumbly. “Obviously the investment paid off.”

“Yes,” Donghyuck smiles, and it looks real, so Mark isn’t too worried. “I’m happy now. I’m grateful.”

“Hashtag blessed, and all that.”

“Hashtag blessed,” Donghyuck repeats, and his accent is _adorable_. Mark kind of wants to kiss him.

It’s not a problem, not really. It could _become_ one, but Mark is a semi-pro athlete. He hangs out with attractive people all the time. He has had a trillion fleeting crushes like this one.

Donghyuck’s phone rings, and a text pops up informing him his roommate is finally allowing him to go through the door again. Mark swears he does _not_ stare at his ass as he goes.

 

Londonian summers are hot and sticky, and Mark itches with the need to feel chlorine on his skin. _Fuck_ tapering, really. Tapering is the worst. It always seems to awaken some sort of obsession in him, makes him want to jump in the water and break his personal records over and over again.

“I’m going for a run,” he tells Kris.

“Uh uh,” Kris nods absently, and then seems to suddenly wake up from his daze. “Hey, Mark. Careful with your knees.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

“I’m serious, if you hurt yourself four days before your main event I am literally going to strangle you. And then Coach will resuscitate you just so he can kill you again himself.”

“Okay, mom,” Mark rolls his eyes.

Kris ignores his snide comment. “And we have an interview at four. Don’t be late.”

“Ugh,” Mark makes a face.

“I know,” Kris says, “But it’s part of the deal. You wanna land sponsors, okay? You wanna swim, you need someone to pay for your shit.”

 

He comes back from his run reinvigorated and starving for some McDonald's. It’s only 11:15, which means there might not be that long of a queue, and if he hurries he could even get some hash browns. He’s waiting in line, composing a text in the groupchat asking if anyone wants anything, when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he laughs when he turns around to see Donghyuck beaming at him. He’s not alone this time; Jaehyun is standing right beside him, looking groggy under his beanie, listening to music through oversized headphones, and two other boys wearing the colors of Team South Korea are talking animatedly right behind them. One of them is sporting bright purple hair, and he is without a doubt the most beautiful man Mark has ever seen in his life. And _beautiful_ truly is the right word—he is slender and pale, the angles of his face sharp in an almost inhuman way, like he’s just stepped out of a manga.

“Hi,” Donghyuck says. “You know Jaehyun, yes?” Mark nods. Jaehyun awkwardly waves at him. “This is Doyoung, fencing” Donghyuck introduces his third companion, a tall boy with a gentle face and straight black hair. “And Taeyong, gymnastics.”

Mark thinks back to his conversation with his own teammates two days ago, about gymnasts and flexibility. He has to shake his head to clear his mind.

“Nice to meet you all.”

“Tae and Doyoung don’t really speak English,” Donghyuck explains, “But they understand.”

Now would be an excellent moment for Mark to come clean and tell Donghyuck he actually has a pretty solid grasp on Korean. Instead he just says, “Oh, cool.”

“McDonald's is different in Korea,” Donghyuck tells him cheerfully. “We’re excited to try it here.”

“Yeah, I’ve been. It’s different in Canada, too. We have poutine. Ah, man, I’d kill for poutine right now.”

“Poutine?”

“Fries, cheese, gravy. It sounds easy, right, but I have never tasted a decent poutine outside of Canada. I think it’s the cheese.”

Donghyuck frowns. “Gravy?”

“It’s—ah, shit. Gimme a sec.”

He takes out his BlackBerry, types the word into Google Translate and shows Donghyuck his screen, making him go _aaah_ in comprehension.

“Give me your phone,” Donghyuck says once they’ve all picked up their orders.

“Uh?”

“Your phone?” Donghyuck mimics a call, bringing his hand to his ear.

“Oh,” Mark says, and for some reason his heart starts beating a little bit faster. Donghyuck enters his phone number into Mark’s contacts before returning the device.

“See, now we don't have to _meet this way_ ,” he grins in his best imitation of a Canadian accent. “Message me.”

“Now?”

“When you want.”

There’s a weight to the word _want_ , to the way Donghyuck stares intently into his eyes as he says it. No way Mark is imagining this. No way.

And it changes everything, right? All theses crushes Mark has because he’s a horny teenager surrounded by guys with abs rivaling those of underwear models, none of that compares to the thrill of someone _wanting you back._ It ignites a flame in Mark’s belly, makes Donghyuck suddenly ten times more attractive, which is—a lot. Maybe even too much to handle.

“I’ll, I'll call you,” Mark stammers, and flees gracelessly.

 

“Dude,” Kris complains when Mark returns to their room, “You can't ask me if I want McD’s and then ignore my pleas for a burger. That’s just mean.”

“Sorry,” Mark says, and he has the decency of looking sheepish. “I met a sexy gymnast.”

He’s not _lying_.

 

He thinks about Donghyuck’s _When you want_ all throughout the Team Canada interview with CBC. There’s a thick layer of foundation on his face, and under the heavy studio lights, it’s uncomfortable and tingling. Most individual questions for the swimmers go to Kris and Ryan, because people know them and love them already. They ask Mark what it feels like to be the youngest in the team, and Mark points to Alec, who is only a few months older than he is, and to Amanda and Brittany, who are also at their first ever Olympics.

“I’m not that special, I just happen to be born mid-August,” he jokes. “We’ve all worked so hard to be here, and it’s the ultimate honor, you know? I’m just kind of constantly amazed.”

The interviewer latches onto the birthday information. “You’re going to be turning eighteen while you’re at the Village, correct? Any plans, to celebrate?”

Mark makes a face. “We’re swimming the 4x100 free prelims the next morning, so no, I’m just gonna head straight to bed.”

“But after?”

“Yeah,” Mark smiles softly, and Donghyuck leaves his mind for a moment, replaced by Kris telling him _you wanna land a sponsor_ earlier. “Once we’ve wrapped up everything, hopefully with some medals, I’m gonna go, uh, reasonably crazy. Ladies, if you’re listening…”

He gives the camera a wink. Kris is looking at him like a proud mother. Mark goes back to daydreaming about Donghyuck’s eyes.

 

Nothing prepared Mark for the opening ceremony. Nothing _could have._ As he walks proudly, waving a little Canadian flag, it feels like he’s floating on hot air. His uniform is too heavy for the weather, his hair is styled all wrong, he lost Kris somewhere in the crowd earlier, and Mark has never been this happy. His parents are somewhere out there, in their stadium seats, probably yelling his name. His chest swells with pride at the thought. He swears to himself right there, _you’re gonna bring home a medal._

Around thirty minutes later, as South and North Korea do their round, he catches a glimpse of Donghyuck on one of the giant flat-screens. He looks amazing. Mark’s heart tightens a little bit at the sight of him, looking sharp as hell in his suit-like dark blue uniform. The camera pans out almost immediately, but Mark is caught in that second, staring at a beautiful boy. No one knows. The atmosphere around him is euphoric, confetti's falling from the ceiling. He could shout right now, _I’m gay, I'm gay, and Lee Donghyuck is drop dead gorgeous,_ and people most likely wouldn't even hear him. There’s something intoxicating about this idea. He’s not gonna do it, obviously, but he _wants to_ , and that’s new. Up to now it’s been easy, mostly, it hasn't ever really felt like hiding. He’s going to tell his parents, one day, for sure; he just wants it to be after he has something to show off with, something really impressive, something like an Olympic medal. Mark is Asian, okay, he’s going to shamelessly bribe his parents into accepting his homosexuality with _success_. This has always been the plan. What’s surprising is the sudden urge to tell the whole damn world, to scream it from the rooftops. Maybe he’s growing up. Maybe he’s hungry for more.

Mark shaves an hour before he has to leave for his first event. He knows he’s pushing his luck, but he also knows he has mastered the technique by now, only really needs Kris to get his upper back for him.

Kris is _extra_ mad at him. He glides the razor on Mark’s skin while muttering under his breath about timetables and horrible teenagers.

Mark flashes him his biggest smile as he steps out of the bathtub. “Thanks, bro.”

“You’re going to be _late_ ,” Kris laments. “God, you freestyle assholes are all the same. You cannot wing the Olympics, Lee.”

Mark throws finger guns at him. “I can try!”

 

He qualifies easily for the semi, scoring fifth during the prelims. Nathan Adrian is so much better than everyone else in the pool Mark knows already that the gold is out of the question. Coach glares at him when Mark tells him, calls him a defeatist, but Mark prefers this to not knowing. Realism is helpful. He closes his eyes and prays for silver.

He drops to sixth in the semi that evening. He’s still cruising, still way above most of his competitors, especially for someone as young as he is, but it’s not fast enough for the podium. He needs to lose a good second. He’s beaten that time during training so many times, he doesn’t understand what isn’t working here.

“It’s your goddamn nerves, kid,” Coach sighs as Mark dries his hair. “You need to loosen up.”

“You’ve never wanted me to loosen up in my _life_ ,” Mark marvels.

“I’m telling you to loosen up now. Remember why you swim.”

“So that I can become famous?” Coach whacks him in the head with a towel. “Because I love swimming,” Mark says, more seriously. “Because it makes me feel free.”

“Good,” Coach says.

 

Nathan Adrian wins the gold. Mark beats his own semi time by three-quarters of a second and lands on the lower step of the podium. He cries in the water when he hears his name and he cries again when the bronze medal is passed around his neck and he cries as _O Canada_ plays, a hand on his heart. At some point, a journalist asks him how he’s feeling, and he blurts out “I have to hug my mom” and starts crying again. Kris is never going to let him live any of this down.

“First of many, kiddo!” Kris yells later as they embrace, and Mark doesn’t cry, but he does hold on extra tight.

Donghyuck doesn’t make it past the semi for the 200 butterfly. Kris qualifies with a magnificent time, coming in at second place, and with the adrenaline pumping through his veins, Mark doesn’t think of texting his new friend until late into the night, with Kris snoring loudly on the other bed. He doesn’t really know what to say. _Sorry_ doesn't really cut it, he knows he would have hated it had the same thing happened to him. _Are you okay_? feels too intimate, somehow. Mark settles for a simple _hey_. He doesn’t really expect an answer, at least not immediately. Donghyuck doesn’t have an event in the morning, but he still should be sleeping. So should Mark.

His phone pings. It’s a BBM notification.

 

**_hyuck ~*_ **

Hey

 

**_MARK LEE_ **

what are you doing up so late

 

**_hyuck ~*_ **

YOU texted ME

 

**_MARK LEE_ **

yeah but like i didnt think youd still be up

 

**_MARK LEE_ **

r u ok tho

 

**_hyuck ~*_ **

I’m disappointed. But it was a good race

 

**_MARK LEE_ **

so why aren't u sleeping then

 

**_hyuck ~*_ **

Because I’m disappointed. I’m also hungry

 

Which is how Mark finds himself out in his pajamas at almost one in the morning in the middle of the Olympic Village, in front of Swallowtail House, waiting for Donghyuck to come down.

In the moonlight, wearing nothing but Adidas shorts and a flimsy white tank-top, his hair all messy, Donghyuck looks _soft_. “You didn’t need to come,” he says in lieu of greetings, and Mark thinks, _I really did._

“The Food Hall is open 24/7,” he says instead, “And once you mentioned food I suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about it. So.”

They get pizza and a huge kale salad, and Donghyuck also picks a bottle of pink Vitamin Water from the fridge. He downs it almost in one go, puts it down and announces, “Ah, I wish this was soju.”

“Dude,” Mark says, “You came in ninth. _Michael Phelps_ was in your heat. You did a pretty fucking good job.”

“I still want soju,” Donghyuck sighs. “It’s impossible to find here. Or maybe it isn’t, but they asked for my ID before I could enter the liquor store.”

“My friend Kris can get some for you,” Mark offers.

“I’m not going to ask Kris Wu to buy me alcohol.”

“It’s funny that he impresses you so much,” Mark giggles.

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. He looks really cute. “You’re the only one in the entire swimming community who’s not impressed.”

“We grew up together,” Mark shrugs. “I’ve literally seen him piss himself. Not even Olympic gold can salvage this.”

“That must have been nice.”

“Seeing Kris piss himself?”

“No, dumbass, growing up with someone like that. My friends, back home, from when I was a kid, they don’t really understand. No one does, unless they also live in the pool.”

“You don’t know the word gravy, but you know how to call me a dumbass, uh?”

“Half my English comes from TV shows.”

Mark has to blink away the image of Donghyuck teaching himself English, expression intent and focused, seated cross-legged in front of a small television. There’s a domesticity in it that he’s not ready for.

“I can see that,” he says, and his voice comes out less teasing than he hoped for, more affectionate than anything else. “I talk a lot of shit, but Kris is great. I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s like, my older brother.”

Later, as they’re walking back to their respective houses, Donghyuck’s shoulder brushes against Mark’s, once, twice, three times.

 _No way I’m imagining this,_ Mark thinks again. _No way._

“Thank you,” Donghyuck says, standing at the door. In the distance, Mark hears a car honking, happy screams.

His voice is a little rough on the edges when he breathes out “Anytime.”

 

Kris wins silver and mopes all the way back to their room. He puts on a pleased face for the press, but as soon as he’s out of the spotlight, his expression turns sour.

“Phelps beat you by 0.01,” Mark says as Kris just lays motionless on the floor like a starfish. “ _Phelps_. Butterfly is his, we all know that.”

“No,” Kris shakes his head, “No one owns a stroke. If I start accepting that the best I can do is second place, I might as well go home.”

Mark doesn’t have anything to answer to that. His bronze suddenly feels like a joke.

 

Mark is in the stands watching a fencing event and rooting for a country that isn’t Canada, two things he didn’t expect to happen at the Olympics. At his side, Donghyuck keeps standing up and yelling at the slightest thing.

“Relax,” Mark tries, but that just earns him a glare.

Down there, Doyoung executes an impressive move, and Donghyuck hoots again. Mark doesn’t know shit about fencing, but Doyoung’s opponent’s suit buzzes, indicating Doyoung scored a point. The match comes to an end a few minutes later, and as Doyoung takes off his helmet, radiant, advancing to the final, Donghyuck hugs Mark tightly.

It’s the first time they touch for more than a fleeting second, and Mark stands completely still at first. Donghyuck is solid against him, nicely defined muscles pressing against Mark’s chest. His arms are encircling Mark, and he smells really good, like laundry detergent and vanilla. Mark finally hugs back, bringing Donghyuck even closer. He breathes in, eyes closed, and then lets go. The whole ordeal can’t have lasted more than thirty seconds, but it leaves Mark disoriented and grinning like a goof.

“Congrats!” he fistbumps Doyoung when they get to see him an hour later, and if Doyoung finds his enthusiasm suspect, he doesn’t say anything.

“We’re going out to eat,” Donghyuck informs him. “You're welcome to tag along.”

“Uh,” Mark blushes, “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Yes, I'm sure, that’s why I’m asking you.”

Taeyong looks up the best rated Korean restaurants on Yelp and they all take a taxi to the closest one in the top 10. The waitress at the door greets them in Korean, and Mark realizes that to anyone watching from afar, they look like a group of Korean kids visiting London out to eat on a nice Thursday evening. _Alternate Universe you,_ Kris had said.

It’s a comfortable atmosphere. The restaurant has a central grill, the two chefs churning out dishes fast as lightning.

“So, how did you guys meet?” Mark gestures to Taeyong and Doyoung.

“He used to do Gymnastics,” Taeyong says. His accent is catastrophic. Mark is a little bit in love.

“They were in the same club as little kids,” Donghyuck explains. “Doyoung abandoned everything for fencing early on, though. And I know Taeyong through Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun, two seats down, smiles around a mouthful of galbi.

At the end of the meal, as they ride back to the Village, Donghyuck lays his head on Mark’s shoulder. They drop Mark off first, and he has to untangle himself from Donghyuck. He feels him against his side, a burning imprint, all the way up to his floor.

 

Mark doesn’t even make it past the backstroke prelims. He takes off his goggles, panting, and stares dumbfoundedly at the 17 next to his name. Worst time of his career. The bitterness of shame floods his veins, all at once.

Coach sits with him at lunch, goes over the slow-motion with him. Mark chews on his baked potatoes morosely.

“You screwed up,” Coach says.

“Thanks,” Mark deadpans, “This is breaking news.”

“Let me finish. You screwed up, but it happens. It sucks, and I’m disappointed, but it happens. You’re on the roster for the relay in two days. You need to get in the right headspace, and I know you, you’re not there.”

“I just need to understand what happened.”

“Your flip-turn was too slow. You know that, Mark, we just watched the video.”

“Yeah, but I don’t understand _why_.”

“Because you weren’t prepared enough,” Coach says bluntly. “Because your head wasn’t in the game. Now, you can stay like this and mess it up for everyone during the 4x100, or you can suck it up and aim for the podium.”

 

“He’s right,” Donghyuck tells him later when Mark recounts the exchange. “It’s mostly mental, this sport. We’re all practically as good as the person swimming next to us, so in the end, you win if you’re mentally strong.”

They’re in Donghyuck and Jaehyun’s room. Jaehyun is watching something on his laptop, earphones plugged in. Donghyuck is propped up against the headboard, Mark laying diagonally at the foot of his bed, watching him upside down.

“You shouldn’t give me advice,” Mark says. “We’re both swimming that medley.”

“I’m gonna beat you anyway,” Donghyuck grins. “I’m magnanimous like that.”

 

Both him and Donghyuck are swimming the preliminaries. South Korea is a lane away from Canada, and as they get ready to jump, forming a quick line behind their teammates, Mark throws Donghyuck a military salute. Donghyuck, that asshole, makes a heart with his fingers.

Backstrokers go first. Mark watches intently as Bradley lowers himself into the water, positioning his body, muscles already straining. A lane down, Jaehyun is doing the same. The referee’s whistle rings through the pool.

Freestyle is always last in a medley, but this is the 4x100, so last really just means barely 30 seconds after the whistle. Mark jumps over Kris, propels himself into the water. He kicks with all his might. Relays are different from other events. They’re teamwork. If you win, you win together, and it’s the best feeling in the world. But if you don’t make it, then you’re left wondering who is to blame.

Mark touches the wall with his palm, shakes the water out of his nose and mouth. _Canada, third,_ the loud speaker announces. He slams his fist into the water and yells, “Fuck yeah! Fuck yeah!”

South Korea are seventh, which means Canada will be seeing them at the final the next day. As they all run back to their lockers, Mark punches Donghyuck lightly in the shoulder.

“Beat ya,” he grins.

Donghyuck looks unbothered. “The most important race is tomorrow,” he smirks, wolfish. It’s a side of him Mark hasn’t really experienced yet, the competitiveness, this fierceness every swimmer has.

“Okay,” Mark says. “Whoever places the lowest has to buy the other one a drink.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

“I’m gonna make you get me the most expensive cocktail there is,” Mark smiles.

“You can dream.”

Donghyuck ends up buying him that drink. Mark softens the blow and just asks for a beer.

On the podium, Kris’s hand gripping his forearm, their national anthem blaring as they all received flowers, Mark remembers feeling nothing but exhaustion, the adrenaline leaving his organism all at once. Now, seated at this random bar, the silver medal still around his neck, hidden under his sweater, it’s like suddenly being back into his own body after having left it like a house for a vacation.

“It’s my birthday tomorrow,” he tells Donghyuck.

Donghyuck looks impressively content for someone who just placed fifth in one of the most important events of his career. Mark carefully doesn’t ask about it.

“I know,” Donghyuck says.“I googled you.”

Donghyuck’s Wikipedia page hasn’t been translated into English yet, so Mark doesn’t say he has done the same, even if he very much did, that first day.

“It didn’t say anything about a girlfriend,” Donghyuck says nonchalantly. Mark almost chokes on his beer. He swallows with difficulty, and then thinks to himself, _fuck it_.

“I don’t do girls,” he says, and wow. Wow, the world doesn’t come crashing down.

Donghyuck simply smiles. “Cool. Me neither.”

They don’t talk about it any more, but Mark’s brain is buzzing. When they order their second round of drinks, he downs half his bottle at once. Donghyuck’s gaze is burning holes into him. Mark’s mouth is forming words, but he doesn’t really know what he’s chatting about, his brain stuck repeating every interaction he’s had with Donghyuck in a loop. Was that one AM snack expedition a date? Is _this_ a date? He feels a little dizzy.

They leave six empty bottles of beer behind them when they get their taxi ride back to the Village. It’s not enough to be _drunk_ , but Mark definitely feels _intoxicated_. They sit entirely too close to each other, thighs pressed together even though there’s no one else with them and they have the entire backseat to sprawl over. Donghyuck keeps looking at him with such intensity that Mark feels like he’s _liquefying._

When they arrive in front of Hopground House, Donghyuck pays the driver and exits with Mark.

“I thought—,” Mark stammers, “Swallowtail is way down the path,” he finishes pathetically.

“I’m walking you home,” Donghyuck says, as if that explains everything.

The elevator ride is quiet. Donghyuck leans against the mirror, eyes never leaving Mark’s face. He’s wearing a plain white tee and ripped black jeans, but suddenly it’s the sexiest look Mark has ever seen in his life.

“I think my roommate is in,” Mark says mournfully as the elevator doors open.

“He’s not,” Donghyuck says. “He posted an Instagram picture of himself at a club around ten minutes ago.”

Mark squints. “Do you have his Google Alerts on or something?”

“Why?” Donghyuck drawls, “You jealous or something?”

And okay. Okay. Two can play this game.

“Yeah, maybe I am,” Mark shrugs. “Gonna do something about it?”

Donghyuck kisses like he does everything else: fast and sloppy but somehow also intense and focused. He presses Mark up against the wall and cups Mark’s face in his hands, licks his way into Mark’s mouth. He tastes like alcohol and the sour cherry candy he was sucking on on the way back to the Olympic Village. Mark feels warmth bloom at the bottom of his belly, his hands gracelessly grasping at Donghyuck's tee-shirt. His palm splayed against Donghyuck’s shoulder blade, he can feel the muscles of his back moving with every breath. It's insanely hot.

“Not here,” he manages to whisper giddily in between two kisses. “The door—the door is right there.”

They barely make it inside the room. As soon as the door is closed, Mark finds himself pinned against it. Donghyuck’s lips leave Mark’s own to pepper burning kisses everywhere; his jaw, his throat, his collarbone. There’s a flash of teeth and Mark _whines_ , so Donghyuck does it again, bites lightly before smoothing the hurt with a gentle press of his lips, and Mark’s grip around Donghyuck’s bicep tightens significantly.

“Off,” Donghyuck grunts, tugging at Mark’s shirt, retreating just enough to allow him space to undress, and then immediately crowding him again. He leaves the medal there, metal cold against Mark’s chest.

“No marks,” Mark warns him with a doleful look, “I have—I have an event in a day.”

“It’s a pity,” Donghyuck starts, mouthing at his neck, “That male swimmers,” he goes lower, sucks lightly on the skin right above Mark’s nipple, making him arch his back, their hips suddenly slotting together, “Don’t wear full body suits anymore,” he finishes.

Mark is fully hard now, hips canting forward, desperately trying to recreate the delicious friction from a second before. He tugs Donghyuck back up, slants their lips back together for a deep, filthy kiss. Donghyuck moans low in his throat, grabs Mark’s ass and then fucking _lifts him up_. Mark wraps his legs around Donghyuck's waist almost by reflex, and then they’re just rutting against each other, fully clothed and uncomfortable to the point where it’s bordering on painful, but Mark is so turned on he doesn’t even care.

“I’m gonna,” he pants against Donghyuck's mouth, “Hyuck, I’m gonna—”

Donghyuck lets him back down, and Mark could almost _cry_ of frustration.

“It’s past midnight,” Donghyuck murmurs, and for a millisecond Mark’s brain just glitches. _What?_ “Happy birthday,” Donghyuck says, and then he drops to his knees.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [twitter](http://twitter.com/pinkhairtaeyong)!


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